There are so many kinds of energy who's to say it only has one purpose? After the All Spark was destroyed, wierd things start happening to Sam. Nearly electrocuting Bumblebee is just the beginning. 2007 movieverse.

Disclaimer:
Transformers belong to Hasbro, and lately, Micheal Bay &
Paramount. This is not for profit. There are also several song lyrics
used in the fic without permission that belong to various artists and
not the author; but again, not for profit.

Warnings:
Violence, mild bad language (teen foul mouth variety)

Authors
Notes: It's been such a long time since I saw a movie that stoked
me so, but I thoroughly enjoyed Transformers. So much so this started
cooking in my head as I left the theatre. I asked myself – can the
Cube affect all things, not just technology? Why? Or, perhaps more
accurately, Why Not?

Be warned,
there are spoilers here. Only vaguely in this chapter, but you
might want to see the movie first. It'll make for good
entertainment. Really.

Please,
read and review. And don't worry – I'm not good at lasting
angst. It'll be a happy story. Promise.

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Prologue

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First day
back at school. It seemed so…so…Sam didn't know….normal.
No, that wasn't quite the way to put it. For Sam, talking with
giant robots from outer space was becoming normal. School was full of
teenagers brimming with angst and enthusiasm (both at once. No,
seriously Ratchet, they really are. It's hard to explain.
Um…you know how you said humans aren't logical? Well, we kinda
learn that when we're teenagers. And it sticks.). It seemed…well,
not abnormal, just mundane. Colourless.

It would
have had more appeal if Mikaela was there with him. But the
government had been very grateful or her father model prisoner,
because he had been released a few days ago. Mikaela and her dad had
gone up to a summer cabin out of state for a little while. Sam
figured, quite shrewdly, that they had a lot to say to each other and
was willing to swallow loneliness for her sake.

He parked
in the school parking lot and restrained himself from telling Miles
not to fiddle with the radio. He still didn't know how personal
Autobots get about that sort of thing, and he'd hate to have to
explain to Miles just why he'd been ejected through the passenger
side window.

Miles was
going on about the latest news – ie, Mission City, War-Game Gone
Wrong, Newest Jets Go Haywire etc, etc, and so forth. Sam couldn't
believe anyone, especially the people on the streets there, had
actually bought that, but Captain Lennox had said that that
was the point. It wasn't about what anyone said; it was about what
anyone could prove.

Sam had
found himself on Lennox's special ops team's mailing list, for
some reason. It was immensely flattering (and slightly worrying) that
they really did consider him to be a soldier after everything that
happened – even just an honorary one. Messages bounced back and
forth between the team, Sam, Mikaela and the 'Bots. Sam guessed
that made him a sort of ambassador. The 'Bots didn't like talking
to the government, but they would talk to Sam.

Speaking
of which… "Miles? I'll catch up in a minute, okay?"

"Yeah,
you got it," Miles levered himself out. "You're gonna have to
tell me sometime, bro."

Sam stared
at him.

"You
know, you being away for two weeks, landing Mikaela, and trading up
your POS Cheapo Used for this sweet ride," Miles snorted. "After
having the Used for just a week. I'm a freak, but I'm not stupid.
You're crap at keeping secrets, I can see it."

Sam felt
bad as he watched Miles walk away. He felt like something a slug
would scrape off it's slime trail.

The radio
whirred. "…As the years go by, our friendship will never die.
You gonna see it's out des-ti-ny, You've got a friend in me.
You've got a fri-end in me."

"Yeah,
that's me and Miles, Bee," Sam nodded sadly. "We've been buds
since we were eating worms. I'm gonna have to tell him sometime. I
haven't exactly been treating him like a friend these last few
weeks."

The radio
switched to Darren Hayes "…How your lies have buried me, But I
forgive you…"

"…the
local council states that there is nothing that can be done…it's
a price malfunction!! …Sometimes it takes time it takes time to…"

Sam rubbed
his fingers over the dash comfortingly. "Okay bud, if you're
sure. Are you going to be okay just sitting out here all day? You
don't have to hang around, you could just go off and…" Sam
paused. What did Autobots do with time off? "do stuff."

"Could
you believe that I could be your guardian angel?" Lee Ryan
demanded.

Sam
laughed. "I dunno, Bee, angels tend to be more…feathery." But
if he had to put his faith in any guardian, he'd take fifteen feet
of cannon toting metal over a white robe and a halo any day. He
opened the door. "Besides, the baddest things in there are teachers
with no sense of humour. Not exactly lethal, ya know? What's the
worst that could happen?"

Famous
last words, Witwicky, Sam thought to himself as Trent's jacket clad
elbow swung in and slammed his locker door shut, nearly catching his
fingertips.

"Whoops,
sorry man," the big jock's sweaty face grinned unrepentantly. He
innocently twisted back around from 'accidentally' putting his
elbow against Sam's locker to talking to his group of hulking
friends.

"No,
'sorry' is for the first time," Sam snapped out. "The second
time the phrase it 'what the hell is your problem'! Or is
all that football-based brain damage giving you memory loss too?"

Sam cursed
his mouth. How many times had the crap been kicked out of him because
the words shot out before he could think to rein them in? A lot,
that's how many. But after everything that had happened lately, Sam
Witwicky didn't find fear in a puny six foot tall, flesh and bone
human. Autobots and Special Ops – Trent and company didn't stack
up well in comparison.

"Real
funny, Wichity," The guy slammed a hand against the locker row.

"Witwicky.
And if you got something to say, line up the words in your two brain
cells and say it." It was the tone. Captain Lennox and
Optimus used it all the time. It contained the promise of trouble if
not obeyed. It was an order voice and it was all in the delivery.

Trent
sneered. "Okay Wiwitchy, you think I got a problem? I heard some
stupid rumours around about you and Mikaela. Stuff like she was going
out with a loser like you. You certainly have a lot to offer her,
right; what with your cheese sting arms and your crap-fest car and
your empty bank account that had you hocking your stuff just to get
by. Went to your eBay page Ladiesman. Who are you trying to
kid? How much is the rental on the car you're pretending is yours
out in the lot? You sell yourself on the street to get the money? Are
you somebody's bitch, Wierdwickety, cause it's probably
the only thing you're good at." Trent prodded Sam with an
unfriendly finger. "You stayaway from Mikaela. Be a
good bitch, or I'll take you out and neuter you – not that that's
make much difference, right?" His friends all sniggered.

Sam,
bored, opened his locker. That was the worst they could do? They
should try having a heart-to-heart with Megatron. "Really? You own
Mikaela, right? She's just another shiny car in your garage?
'Cause, you know, last time I checked, she was her own person. In
fact," Sam got his books out, ignoring the guy's glare. "Last
time I checked, she would rather walk home ten miles than get in your
shiny new truck which, by the way, is kind of a hugely unsubtle
overcompensation. You get mag wheels and you are whining about
scratching the chrome? What kind of moron buys an off road truck and
is scared to go off road?" Sam slammed his locker closed, packing
his books in his bag. He felt his anger skyrocketing a lot faster
than it usually did. He'd spent the last few weeks either dodging
cannons or getting debriefed by Agent 'Paranoia' Simmons and
people like him. There were entire races out there in the stars
getting wiped out in a war, and the human race might be next. Sam had
enough on his mind, he didn't need to handle an ass like Trent.
"How would it ever have worked out between you two anyway? You
can't stand any girl smarter than you are. But, you know, stuff
growing in my shower is smarter than you are."

A meaty
hand grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him up from packing his
backpack. "What was that, Witgeekity?

Sam's
hands snapped up and grabbed the offending wrist, clenching his
fingers around it. He kept his stance wide and his grip solid. "You
wanna start something?" Sam snarled, twisting the grip loose. It
didn't matter that he only came up to the hulk's chin, he was
holding his ground unflinchingly. His hands started to tingle as his
grip hardened. "Right here, right now?"

The
hallway was still fairly crowded and everyone was watching. It was a
rare sight to see skinny Sam Witwicky challenge the guard of the
football team. Trent was taken aback. He was used to people backing
down. He was used to Sam backing down, throwing out all sorts of
stupid excuses that proved what a pussy he was. This was a different
Sam. He was steelier, harder and poised.

But the
big footballer's pride wouldn't let him back down. He shoved Sam
hard, sending him back against the opposite row of lockers. "Yeah,
I do Witweakling," Trent laughed. "You're such a bitch. You're
all talk and no ac-"

The breath
was driven from his body as Sam's foot hit his solar plexus. Hard.
The kid had used the opposite locker wall to brace his body and
slammed Trent with the full force of his runners legs. Not only was
Trent sent flying back against the lockers, he actually slid down
them, landing in an ungainly heap on the floor, gasping and coughing
past the knot of agony that was his diaphragm.

There was
a dead, shocked silence. To anyone's knowledge, this had never
actually happened before. Trent was down – down, as in
floored – and Sam was standing. "Things change, Trent."
Sam spoke flatly.

The bell
ringing shattered the tableau. The students all began to scatter,
chattering excitedly at what just happened. Trent's friends bent to
help him off the floor. He shook them off angrily, still coughing and
gasping. "You're dead, Witwicky!"

He lunged
forward, but Sam was agile. He ducked around the first punch and got
away from the wall of lockers. Unfortunately, he was outnumbered. One
of Trent's buddies grabbed him, swung him round and slammed him
face first into the lockers, so hard the vent mesh cut into his face.
Trent's fist slammed into his kidneys from behind. Sam gasped as
the pain exploded.

"Not so
tough now, huh? Huh?" The fists kept coming.

Sam got
one arm free and sent it back like a piston. It connected with
something hard enough for the joint to burn. There was a yell, and
the restraining grip loosened enough for Sam to struggle free. He
didn't even pause to scoop up his backpack; he just ran for it.
Parking lot, third row back. Bumblebee.

"Where
you goin', Witwussy, where you goin'?" Trent yelled as he and
his henchmen gave chase.

Out of
here, Sam decided. This wasn't a fight he could win, or even draw.
His back burned, his face was wet from bloody cuts, his heart was
hammering so hard onto his ribs it felt like it was being bruised.

And then a
horn blared. Squealing around a row of cars, his bright yellow,
stylish and currently infuriated guardian rolled into their row
behind the chasing boys, headlights set at a menacing brightness.
"Back off, back off bitch! Down in the gutter, dyin' in the
ditch. You better back off, back off bitch!" The song was so
loud it actually rattled the windows of the other cars in the lot.

The
footballers all spun around, backing away from the blaring, revving
Camaro.

"Go
Bee," Sam muttered, grinning slightly. Then his amusement faded.

Trent had
picked up a rock from somewhere as he chased after Sam. Now he hefted
it in his hand like he was going to make a pass, grinning cruelly.
"You think you'll get the deposit back when there a big freaking
hole in the windscreen, tough guy?" he sneered.

Sam's
heart jolted. Something white hot blasted him all the way to his
bones. What had started as a slight ache in chest distilled
agonisingly, and spread through his muscles like hot ice, winding him
like a spring and superheating him. It happened so fast and so
furiously that he only had time to open his eyes to nearly full
whiteness. "NO!"

Whatever
it was exploded out of Sam, knocking out windows and mirrors in cars
around him. From overhead sparks flew and came down in a rain of
burning light from the power lines, blue arcs were jumping and
dancing between the cables. They sprang loose from Sam, bouncing and
arcing across cars and poles and streetlights, blowing out bulbs and
throwing glass shrapnel around like bullets. Lighting bolts as
thickset as Sam inscribed giant flickering arches in the air, taking
out the windows of the school complex and flash burning off
paint.Sam screamed as his hands felt the burn of the crackling
bolts earthing in a wide circle around him. Bumblebee sped past the
screaming and retreating teens, making a beeline for Sam. One of the
bolts reached out and stuck the yellow 'Bot.

Sam
fainted.

A few
minutes later he woke up. His chest felt like someone had taken a
sledgehammer to it. His muscles twitched and cramped tortuously, and
his hands stung and burned. His breath was like razors in his chest.
Somehow, he forced himself over and got to his knees.

Around him
electrical wires lay on the ground like giant pieces of dropped
string. The ground was covered with glass, and smoke rose from a
dozen tiny fires started by the sparks.

"Oh. My.
God," Sam gasped, slumping. He had to …his brain was buzzing and
blacking at the same time….he had to…he couldn't…he had to
go. A picture of Optimus Prime flashed in his head, and it took his
brain a minute to actually recognise it. The Autobots. They could
help. He had to find the 'Bots. He crawled towards the nearest car,
and for a moment didn't recognise it. He panicked until his fried
mind connected the dots.